


Absolute Beginners

by TheGoddessComplex



Series: Absolute Beginners [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, I Love You, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, transfer rumours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoddessComplex/pseuds/TheGoddessComplex
Summary: In a time with constant reminders of what he left behind and what he might have to let go of, Paulo doesn't exactly feel like himself. Blurting out some words to Leo in the heat of the moment might only make things worse... or show him the way to overcome them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, it's me again :)  
> This fic is an accident, I never expected to make a sequel of sorts to "The Smile in his Mind", let alone setting the foundations for a Fic Verse (!). But that's exactly what I just did. Don't worry, though- there isn't really a need to go back to that fic to understand this one, unless you want to see how these two lovebirds began their affair (or read more of my stuff).  
> Anyway, once more, the small glossary before we begin:
> 
> Che: conjuction. Here it's used where "dude" would be.  
> ¿Qué hacés acá?: "what are you doing here?". The accent isn't misplaced. Paulo is Argentine.  
> Pibe: young man, teenager or kid.  
> Nene: kid, boy.  
> Bostero: Supporter of Boca Juniors or involved in any way with the club  
> Gallina: Supporter of River Plate or involved in any way with the club

Following all the celebration in the Juventus dressing room after defeating Bologna 3-0, the players were finally discharged. Of course, Gonzalo Higuaín, scorer of two of the goals and capocannionere of the team and Serie A, got most of the praise, but the Supercoppa, with a certain penalty stop by Gianluigi Donnarumma, wasn’t as far as they wished. That influenced the Juve squad to give young Paulo some love.

“Dude, you were amazing!” Miralem cheered, as he pulled Paulo in for yet another hug. “See? I told you you hadn’t lost it. And you know what that means...”

Paulo chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, next lunch’s on me”.

“Haha, yeah piccolo!” Miralem ruffled his hair again (which did NOT resemble Bart Simpson’s) and then left. Everyone else gave him a pat in the shoulder as well.

“Tomorrow dinner at my place!” Gonzalo announced as he got into his car. Normally Paulo would drive him, but ever since the former had noticed the latter’s increasing communication with Leo, the capocannionere had begun to place a bit of a distance. Paulo felt bad, but what else could he do. His relationship with Leo had been growing steadily for the last three months, and March couldn’t come sooner, not only because then they would finally put to practice the R-rated content they instructed to each other via telephone or Skype, but also because then he might finally be able to say it. The big three words.

“I love you”.

He knew Leo cared about him, he knew he was interested in him, what he had to say and his feelings, as much as he knew he wanted him. But he couldn’t help but to feel it might be too soon yet. Of course, “too soon” hadn’t mattered when Paul left the way he had and never got the chance to say it, not in the present tense at least. But this was different. There was no transfer that would set them apart, regardless of Florentino Pérez’ delusional wishes, and now they were on their own, like the adults they were. Despite that,  _ because of that _ , he felt like a child. He knew if he faced Leo he’d blurt it out. That was why he hadn’t asked him to go to Dubai with him. He hadn’t lied when he said he couldn’t keep Leo from seeing his family and friends back home, but that fear was also there, lurking at the back of his mind and tearing him apart. So the more time passed, the better. Two more months, and if things were going as well as they currently were, he would be able to say it and it would be perfectly fine. Besides, they weren’t officially boyfriends yet, even if they pretty much acted that way. Leo had said he wanted to actually kiss him before making it so (the man measured his milestones in Hollywood film tropes, whether he admitted it or not), and he lowkey agreed. Given how far they were, he didn’t truly feel the need for a definition at that moment.

All this went through his head as he drove back home, having nodded towards Pipa upon his suggestion. He would go, it was fine. They might not be as close as they were early on, but he was still his friend. There was no way he’d leave him- besides, any chance of hanging out with everyone would be appreciated. No one knew for how much longer guys like Uncle Pat,  _ like himself _ , would remain in the group.

As he got to his flat, he threw himself on the couch, uploaded a nice pic from the match (the one with Miralem hugging him tight) and proceeded to phone Leo. While he could have found his de facto boyfriend’s result via social media, he liked hearing it from Leo first. And now that their matches had pretty much been simultaneous, it was a great opportunity.

“Hola...”

“Hola Leo, it’s me, Paulo”.

“Oh, hi Pau...”

“What’s the matter?”

“Masche told me you scored a penalty tonight against Bologna. That’s... great, Paulo. I’m happy for you”.

“Damn it, I wanted to tell you that!” Paulo smiled as he blushed. He liked Masche, but sometimes he could keep some details and not ruin surprises. That being said, he knew he meant well. For a guy known as placing his older bonds above any other (shown by his refusal to give Mauro a chance), he’d been quite supportive of them, even giving him some advice regarding Leo and his emotional cues.

One being the dragged sound of his voice.

“I know that must have meant a lot to you, given how it went back in Doha...”

“Don’t remind me”

“Ha, but yeah, that’s a big boost. You didn’t seem afraid at all”.

“I wasn’t”.

“I’m proud of you, pibe”

Three months had passed since they had begun their relationship. Six months since his own first contact. Four months since Mendoza. And yet, those words always made Paulo’s heart feel fulfilled.

“Anyway, how’s Turin doing?”

But he couldn’t let that make him lose track of what he aimed to do.

“Leo, is everything okay?”

Silence by the other side of the line. Paulo paced around his living room. He hoped Leo wouldn’t hang up, eager to avoid the situation, if it was as troublesome as he feared. He didn’t want to have to call up Masche for help, or even worse, Kun.

“Yeah, I guess. We scraped one point...”

“God, no”.

“I’m sorry, Pau. But we might have lost La Liga today”.

“No, no, la concha de su madre, no” Paulo couldn’t help it, the fan within had taken control. He didn’t want Real to win, no matter how much he cared about Álvaro. He covered his mouth, both in shock and with the remainder that he had to be supportive of the man he loved.

“We tried, I swear. But even without those penalties denied to us, we just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t the day”.

“Fuck, Leo...”

“I let you down”.

“NO YOU DIDN’T” Paulo found himself shouting. Just like Leo feeling proud of him triggered that immense joy, him seeing himself as a disappointment unleashed a strange anger. Lionel Andrés Messi could not disappoint anyone. It was impossible. He was the best player there had ever been, whether FIFA acknowledged it the next day or not. He wished Leo actually understood it, instead of living with that self-doubt. Either way, he was going to let him now how wrong he was.

“YOU COULD NEVER LET ME OR ANYONE DOWN, GET IT? YOU’RE THE BEST FUCKING PLAYER THERE’S EVER BEEN. I BET YOU DID SOMETHING TODAY. YOU SAID YOU GUYS TIED. DID YOU SCORE?”

“Well, I did a freekick...”

“AND IT WAS PERFECT, RIGHT?”

“I don’t know, Paulo”.

“WHAT DID NEY SAY?”

“Well, he liked it, and all...”

Paulo kept asking Leo about players’ opinions on his goal as he turned on YouTube on the TV and searched “Lionel Messi goal against Villarreal 2017″. Indeed, it had already been uploaded, and it was as amazing as everyone else was claiming. Nothing left to say. Leo was filled with that self-doubt made from the ridiculously high expectations people had of him, even if he hadn’t just scored an amazing freekick- he’d saved Barça’s asses.

“Leo, I’m watching the freekick. Dude, you’ve no idea how much I wish I could score those as well as you do. You’ve no idea how much I wish I could fend off defenders the way you do. Stop self-doubting, I know we’re pretty much screwed, but you’ve got nothing to do. You did what you had to do. You got us a point. That’s... amazing. You’re amazing” he took a deep breath, “and I love you so much-”

Paulo’s eyes widened.

He’d said it.

He’d fucking said it, two months into the still unofficial relationship.

They weren’t actually boyfriends yet, and he’d said it.

“Bye Leo” he quipped, and threw himself on the couch. He couldn’t believe himself. He’d blown it. He’d tried to be the strong one, and wound up being what he was, a fucking pibe. Un nene, 23 years old and still a fucking nene.

Paulo covered his face with a cushion, and screamed.

***

After dinner ended, Paulo went outside for a walk before actually heading home. The snow was particularly terrible, and he missed the sun back at his Laguna Larga. Sometimes he forgot how good it felt to go back home, and how much he needed it, regardless of time difference and what it did to his body. But those were the very reasons he never spent Christmas at his first home. If he could avoid any unnecessary damage to his performance, he would.

Then again, when was the last time he’d actually spent a summer down there? He was shocked at the realization- he’d been a teenager, still playing for Instituto, showing all those European agents eager to see players from the fallen great there was much more to see in la B, in all of Argentina, than those gallinas. It had been  _ centuries _ . A lot had happened since then, and Paulo tried to shake off the longing. He had to focus. He had a career to fulfill, a dream to carry out. He couldn’t let nostalgia blur him. No summers at home for the following fifteen years or so, and that was it. Final decision.

Sensing that eerie yet familiar heaviness he had felt within him for the last eight years or so, he kept walking, until he stopped in his tracks.

Leo was standing right in front of him.

He was wearing a suit, very similar to the one Griezmann had worn to the earlier FIFA gala. With his hair back to his natural hair color, but keeping the beard, Leo looked mature and sure of himself, completely unaffected by the earlier gala’s results. Paulo tried to mentally search for a more stunning image, and failed miserably at it.

“Pau, hola”.

“Ho... hola, Leo, ¿que hacés acá?” he asked, still wondering if the stress had finally caught up with his sanity. “You… you didn’t go to the gala to train, you have a big match in two days, you should…”

“I came to see you. Well, I wanted to congratulate Pipa, but I already texted him, and well, he told me you guys would celebrate his goals, so I figured you’d be here and...” He smiled timidly, and the heaviness was gone. Paulo felt like himself again, and smiled back, widely, joyfully.

“Did I tell you your smile is beautiful?” Leo asked, and turned away a little. He was  _ blushing _ .

“Ha, a few times, but so does my mom” Paulo chuckled, as he pulled closer. The fog of his words were now covering Leo’s face, and he looked up, his gaze so loving. The immeasurable joy was now fueling every single cell of Paulo’s being, like small bubbles.

“So” Leo said, seductively, “do you know any places nearby? I didn’t congratulate you on that goal like I should have. I wanna make it up to you”.

Paulo relished in the small fog covering his own face.

“Follow me” he said as he held Leo’s left hand with his own.

***

Having barely eaten at the Pipa dinner, the cozy restaurant where Paulo liked to go when he wanted to disappear from the spotlight while also not necessarily wanting to cook felt more perfect than ever. They ordered two salads- after all, they both had (simultaneous) matches on Wednesday- and talked about how things were going at their clubs and cities.

“So we may not be able to count on Gerard for the following three matches” Leo finished his tale, and put some lettuce with smoked salmon into his mouth.

“WOW” Paulo exclaimed. “I mean, kudos to him for standing up to those hijos de puta, but his absence would certainly hurt. And you guys  **need** to win on Wednesday”. He proceeded to eat another piece.

“I know, that’s why Andrés was mad at him. But he claims we’d be fucked anyway, with the refs being sold”.

“I bet he sees himself as some sort of martyr”.

“Yeah, that will be a key factor in his presidential campaign”.

Both men laughed.

“So, how’s it going with you guys in la Shuve?”

“Haha, well, we’re going strong, this guy Tomás Rincón came last week. He seems nice, I hope it all turns out fine”.

“He should, Masche complained a lot about him after the Mérida match”.

“Can’t blame him. It hurts me to say it, but we owe Lucas that point”.

“Your bostero is showing, che” he chuckled.

“Shut up” he smiled and took a sip of water. “Anyway, we’re all working towards the sixth Scudetto. That would be historical, you know?”

Leo nodded.

“It would be amazing, making it into the history of the club, with all those greats. That’s the goal, many of us play, few of us actually reach top level, very rare cases like yours turn out to be extraordinary…”

Leo blushed again and took a sip of water. More than ten years of constant praise, and it hadn’t reached his head. Paulo felt absolutely enamoured. Yet he went on.

“But actually being worthy of history? It’s insane, and so hard... if I could be part of it... whah! I...” The excitement got the better of him, and he looked up to the ceiling, to the sky, his gaze heavenly.  _ You’d be so proud, Dad _ .

“So it means you’re staying here?” Leo said, warily. Paulo looked at him, reminded of reality. All those negotiations, his outburst at the Juve officials when he remembered the Olympics, the delay in his diagnosis, the wary looks of guys like Stefano and Daniele, who couldn’t understand why he was so upset deep down, the concerned looks of everyone, not knowing if he’d stick around, the whispers along the lines of  _ “he was very close to Paul, you know” _ ...

“I’m not going  _ there _ , by the way” he warned. He then looked down, and continued with a disappointed note in his voice. “I love this club, you know? They really put me in the international spotlight, all by themselves. No River Plate to justify people looking at me. That Ballon d’Or nomination, I owe it to them. All the praise, I owe it to them. And let’s be honest- if I have started games in the NT, it’s because of them. But I need to keep growing, you know, I want to see other footballs in this continent before reaching my thirties and going back home. Italy is great, but I want to feel part of a truly attacking team, a team that actually plays the way I like to watch on TV or the stadium... I wouldn’t be shady, though, I owe them so much, I could never pull a Pogba... Leo, there’s so much I want to do, and time seems so little...”

“Trust me, you have a lot of time left” Leo said. “I’m turning thirty this year, and I have very little regrets. But you can’t do it all. Even if I went back to Ñuls after Russia, I’d be 31. Even today I’m not the guy I was when I was your age. Imagine two more years. I will never be able to give them my best. But I couldn’t leave Barça. I love this club with all my heart, and I don’t regret a thing. But to stay here forever... I want to go back to Rosario eventually, be with my family, la banda”.

“I know” Paulo said, thinking back to his own melancholy.

Leo ate some more.

“So, that haircut looks good on you”.

“FINALLY SOMEONE SAYS IT” Paulo lifted his arms to the sky as Leo laughed. “Wait... you mean it, right? Not just because you, you know...”

“Love you?”

“Yeah!... Wait, you do?”

“I do, Paulo. I just wanted to wait until we were actually boyfriends to tell you, but since you beat me, well...”

Paulo smiled, as he saw an opportunity.

“Speaking of, you said you wanted to wait until we met face to face to make it official with a romantic film-worthy kiss”.

“Che, I never said it had to be romantic-film worthy!” Leo complained jokingly.

“Ha ha, well, thing is, I’m here. You’re here.  _ We’re here _ ”.

He fixed his gaze on Leo. The rosarino smiled and leaned in.

Paulo thought of an old story he’d read when he was a kid. When the protagonist’s first kiss came, at first they felt each other’s lips with their own. Then they felt each other with their lips. Years later, he could say he understood.

He could feel Leo’s being through the kiss, through his lips. He’d never seen him as clearly, despite his eyes being closed. The beard was a bit itchy, but soon he lost track of it. His soul was exploding with that joy, that fulfillment. Except something was missing. He hoped it wouldn’t tire them a lot, Leo still had to go to Barcelona to resume training. Either way, it wasn’t that urgent. They could finish their salads.

They finally separated, smiling like a pair of pibes. Deep inside, they’d never stop being that.

And for that night, for one night at least, Paulo didn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there it is: March seems very far, so there you have it: a Messala fix two months ahead of schedule :) I hope you guys enjoy this one, if you want to comment on anything, you can write down a comment here or via Tumblr, I'm thinkingoverloves there.  
> Also, yes, the fic shares the series' name. Most albums have one song that titles them, so this would be it.  
> (When this fic is published, several timezones are already on January 10th 2017. While I don't think Leo likes David Bowie in real life, and am not sure Paulo does, this guy has accidentally given the soundtrack this incarnation of Messala needed. So I encourage you to listen to that song, which named the series. Or look up the lyrics. Either way, this is dedicated to Bowie, one year after he went back to space).


End file.
